10 Ways to Snag Mr Right
by elfree
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures. And so we find Tonks equipped with a self help book and a burning determination to snag Mr. Right.


_Mum and Dad: A Guide to Parenting Hormonal Teenagers_

I sigh and stuff the guide back on the shelf between _Muggling:_ _101 Ways to Blend In With Muggles _and _Normalcy: How to Hide the Fact That You Are a Witch or Wizard from Loved Ones._

I begin to rifle through the titles again, pausing occasionally to contemplate the more obscure ones. Then, stuffed unceremoniously between a dusty copy of _Taming Dragons _and the end of the shelf, I find it.

_10 Ways to Snag Mr. Right _by Helena Neinheart

Looking suspiciously around to make sure no one is looking I take the book off the shelf and thumb through it quickly. Without wasting another minute I stand from my crouched position and shuffle swiftly towards the check out.

The young man at the counter glances at the title of my book with a smirk playing across his face. I scowl defensively then grab my purchase from his hands without waiting for a bag. Slipping the book hastily into my pocket I exit Flourish and Blotts. Diagon Alley is the usual hustle and bustle of Christmas and I make my way carefully through the crowds of witches and wizards. The cold wind blows persistently, determined to capture my white knitted hat. I pull it tighter over my ears.

I know I shouldn't be embarrassed. Many people before me have succumbed to the evil yet intriguing power of the Self Help section of Flourish and Blotts, and for much greater problems than my own. I think. I shouldn't be ashamed that I have not had a boyfriend in three years. That I have not gone on a date in two years and nine months. That a man has not looked at me like _that _in…forever. Countless witches and wizards turn to the phenomenon of self help books, whether it is to improve their abysmal potion making, or, like me, to improve their abysmal love life.

The walk from Diagon Alley to my flat is not a long one but an ominous feeling about the weather tells me to apparate back. Sure enough, as I take the key to my front door from my pocket, I see the new snow falling from the hallway window.

I grumble unhappily as I see the condition of my flat. I throw my cloak and hat carelessly onto the report strewn couch, stepping over my favorite boots and a copy of Witch Weekly to get to the kitchen. Another groan of shame leaves my lips as I see the state of this room. Plates piled high in the sink, half full muggle takeout cartridges lie fermenting on the countertops, and more reports litter the kitchen table that I have not eaten on in six months.

However hard I try, I can not keep anything clean. It's a miracle I even manage to get my washing done, let alone put the newly cleaned clothes away in their appropriate drawers. The bathtub needs scrubbing, the refrigerator is emitting a horrible and ominous stink, and I have not seen the carpet of my bedroom for quite a while.

My _untidiness_ often affects my personal life. Not one, but TWO boyfriends had split up with me after seeing my flat (this being before my boyfriend dry spell). Granted, they weren't exactly the cleanest wizards themselves. Stupid prats.

I shove a pair of fuzzy socks and an enormous potions encyclopedia out of my way - clearing a path from the kitchen to the bathroom. Ignoring the stench of the room, I step over an empty bottle of Kaleidoscope'sColor Booster Shampoo, and, congratulating myself on my exceptional carefulness today, stare into the mirror. A woman with a short magenta bob and a button nose stares back at me.

I head back into my kitchen with the intention of cracking open my new book. I put the kettle on without changing the water, a thing my mother disapproves of greatly. Something about circulating oxygen or whatnot. Walking back to my living room to retrieve the book from my cloak, I trip over my boots and stumble into the coffee table. My shin aches and I groan, cursing the offending boots. I make a quick grab for the book and then walk much more carefully back into the kitchen.

In another five minutes my tea is made, and I am sitting witch my legs propped up on the table, scrunching up some ministry reports. My mug leaves a brown ring around further reports. No matter, there's probably another copy of them somewhere.

I crack open the book and leave a crease along the spine. The first few pages are the usual nonsense but I pause to read the introduction.

_If you are reading this you have chosen to take the brave step into bettering yourself. As you must know, this book is going to help you find that Mr. Right. However, this book is not about him. It is about you. By following my ten simple steps you will be able to find and latch onto (_What, am I a leach now?)_ Mr. Right. Do not enter into this program half-heartedly, for it takes determination, perseverance, and constant vigilance_ (Wow, I didn't know Moody wrote self help books!)_ to complete. If you are not wholly committed, you will not be able to snag the man of your dreams._

The rest goes on to explain the program with more ranting about determination and perseverance. I feel quite silly for having bought this book but I am already intrigued by it. It sounds like a no nonsense program, if that is possible for something called _10 Ways to Snag Mr. Right_.

I think for a moment about who my Mr. Right might be. My mind drifts to a conversation that I had had with Kingsley Shacklebolt the day before. The conversation that had triggered me to buy this book.

"Wotcher, Shacklebolt," I said. Kingsley sniggered placed himself atop the edge of my desk. His eyes sparkled deviously. I wish I could say I knew that look, but frankly, I did not, and it frightened me a bit. I busied my hands so I didn't have to look at him and in my haste I knocked over my mug of tea which hit the desk and leaked its contents onto the reports.

Kingsley, possibly realizing he had made me nervous, conjured a chair out of thin air, and sat on that instead, his legs straddling the front of the chair and arms leaning on the rails. His stare was still devious, and I was still utterly freaked out. I wondered if he was going to ask me out, or, possibly, because he was Shacklebolt, tell me I would go out with him even if he had to handcuff me to his wrist and – _Oh, don't flatter yourself, Tonks. _

"Erm…Kinsley, why are you looking at me like that."

"Tonks. Are you staying at Headquarters for the holidays?"

I hitched my eyebrows in surprise and considered my options. He was blocking the exit to my cubicle, so I couldn't make an escape that way. I could apparate back to my flat and risk getting suspended for leaving work two hours early. Maybe I could apparate to another cubicle in the office. No…Shacklebolt might find me.

"Yes, I think I am," I squeaked nervously as my eyes darted around the cubicle. I wondered if I could hop the right wall and hide in the girls bathroom until the day was over.

"Any reason in particular?" asked Kingsley, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

All thoughts of an escape left my mind. I now had no idea what Kingsley was talking about, and I stared stupidly at him. "What?"

"I said," Shacklebolt smirked, "any reason in particular? Not a special something or…_someone_ you want to bake Christmas cookies with, eh?"

"Christmas cookies? Uh…no?" It was more a question that a statement. Shacklebolt was acting so strangely that I was scared to say anything that might displease him. He usually didn't act like this, all devious and…creepily. You know, it's not unheard of for people to just get up one day and decide they're absolutely insane!

"Tonks you look as if someone has just pulled a bloody axe on you," Shacklebolt laughed. I joined in, my laughter coming out in nervous high pitched trills as I wondered if_ he_ was hiding a bloody axe in his robes.

I decided to plunge for my answer and asked, "Shacklebolt, just what exactly is this conversation about here?" I waited nervously, my eyes screwed up in dread as I pictured Kingsley whipping out his axe and laughing madly, "_IT'S ABOUT THIS LADY!"_

"Oh come on, Tonks. I know you fancy someone in the Order."

I stared idiotically at Kingsley. The image of him brandishing the axe inches from my neck fizzled out and died and I continued to stare at him. "And how do you figure that, Kingsley?"

"Every time there's a meeting you get all flushed and you tip over mugs and trip over carpets."

"Kingsley," I sighed exasperatedly, "I'm always tipping mugs over and tripping over carpets. I tipped my mug over just now, and I _certainly _don't fancy you." I shuddered at the image of Kingsley wrapping his beefy arms around me in a sweet cuddle. Well, maybe not too sweet, considering I had spellotape smothering my mouth and my hands tied behind my back. _Oh, bloody hell Tonks! _

Kingsley, ignoring my last pronouncement completely said, "It's Sirius isn't it?"

"Kingsley he's my cousin, you sick bastard! And you can just stop guessing now, because I'm not going to tell you!"

"Ahah! So you do like someone from the Order. Is it Mundungus?"

I gagged, the image of me and Mundungus actually causing physical pain. "No, it bloody well isn't Mundungus! And, no! I don't like anyone from the Order!"

"Deary me, look at all these mixed messages, Tonks! Hmmm…is it Charlie? Bill? Or maybe you fancy the paranoid schizophrenic types like…say, Moody!" Kingsley laughed at the horrified expression on my face. "Oh, I've got it. You like the quiet types. Remus, eh?"

My expression clouded up for a moment before I stood up and brandished my wand at Shacklebolt's neck. "If you don't get out of my office and stop bugging me about who I bloody fancy, I will curse you into oblivion!"

Shacklebolt got up from his chair, holding up his hands in defense, but with a wicked grin playing across from his face. He turned around and began to laugh as he headed out of my cubicle. I lowered my wand and had almost sat back down until Kingsley yelled over his shoulder, "AND STOP PICTURING HIM NAKED TONKS!"

My jinx missed his head by inches and sent the cubicle it hit into flames. I grimaced and decided now was as good a time as ever to apparate back to my flat and start winter break an hour or so early.

-

However painful that situation had been, it did make me realize something. I did fancy someone in the Order. Remus Lupin. At first I couldn't believe this. Remus was definitely not my type. He was quiet and bookish and…boring. I hadn't even ever had a proper conversation with him, and yet I still fancied him. I guess there are some things I have yet to learn about love, or whatever.

With this realization I decided it was about time I took my love life into my own hands. Take charge. Grab the bull by the horns and pull. Tight.

Whatever you want to call it.


End file.
